


what a ghostly scene

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Series: i wish we had more time (ws!steve trevor) [10]
Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, F/M, Robbery, WW1984 spoilers, Winter Soldier AU, to the left of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: Steve freezes in place. Max Lord—he knows that name.or: Steve remembers something else. Diana meets an old friend.SPOILERS FOR WONDER WOMAN 1984.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Series: i wish we had more time (ws!steve trevor) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/744300
Comments: 21
Kudos: 109





	what a ghostly scene

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Taylor Swift's "my tears ricochet".
> 
> **SPOILERS FOR WONDER WOMAN 1984.**
> 
> quick note: bc I already had Barbara Minerva show up in previous entries to this series, I used a different name for the incarnation we see in WW84. pls imagine that with minor adjustments for AU events, WW 1984 still happened as is.

_1984._

Steve doesn’t—lie to her, exactly, when he tells her he was somewhere good. Just, you know. Obfuscates the truth a little bit. He was in a nice dream, when he woke up in someone else’s body, someone else’s life. He wasn’t _awake_ , he was sleeping in the cold, dreaming of warmth and love and a life he only remembered in dreams.

He feels maybe a little guilty about it.

Maxwell Lord grabs his arm in the White House, looks him in the eye, then grins, teeth so unnaturally white that Steve half-thinks they’ll blind him. “Don’t you wish you could be a real boy again?” he asks. “Don’t you want to remember her? Don’t you want this dream to never end?”

Of course he does. God, he wants this so much, wants to wake up next to Diana for the rest of his days, wants this warm, beautiful life to last.

But there is what he wants, and there is the rest of the world. So Steve says, “Yeah, _no,_ ” and slips the cuff onto Maxwell’s wrist. “Just wanted to get close enough to handcuff you,” he says, cheekily, and savors that for a little while. Savors everything for as long as he can: the flying, the world, the _living_ , because he knows it won’t last. He tried not looking, he really did, but he’s a spy, denial of what’s right in front of him has never served him well in his line of work.

If he stays here, like this, then Diana loses her powers. If Diana loses her powers, she can’t save people, she can’t save the world, at this critical point where the world badly needs saving.

So. It’s not even a choice.

“I _can’t_ ,” she tells him, despairing. “I can’t say goodbye.”

He smiles at her, because it’s the only thing he can do. Every part of him screams at going back to the cold, to the horror, to the loneliness, at leaving Diana again. He wants, so badly, to tell her that he takes it back, maybe there is another way, but all he can think of is poor Priscilla Rich and her cold, flinty eyes. She used to be so kind. “I’m already gone,” he says.

She kisses him, one last time. He leans against the pillar to watch her go, this brilliant, beautiful woman, the love of his life, to save the world once more. “I’ll always love you, Diana,” he says, “no matter where I go.”

He closes his eyes and sinks back into sleep, smiling.

\--

When next he wakes, he doesn’t remember her.

\--

_The Present._

Some of the interns, Steve finds, have a habit of listening to true crime podcasts for fun while doing conservation work. “What can I say,” says Katie, gently scraping away some dust from an urn, “most of us love hearing sordid tales of murder and crime.”

“ _You_ like murder,” Kamala counters. Today it’s her turn, and she’s playing an episode from a podcast about con artists and Ponzi schemes. Steve’s mostly tuned it out, focused as he is on cataloging the new acquisitions coming in. “I just want to hear about con artists getting their comeuppance.”

“Don’t lie, I’ve seen you watch Buzzfeed Unsolved,” says Katie.

“The supernatural seasons!” says Kamala.

Kids these days. Steve lifts the lid on one of the crates, marks down the contents on his clipboard. Under Katie and Kamala’s conversation, the podcast’s host says, “In 1984, Black Gold Collective, after years of dry wells and shady deals, suddenly struck—well, black gold. For reasons still unknown, Max Lord had suddenly gained control of _half the world’s oil supply_ —”

Steve freezes in place. Max Lord—he knows that name. _Don’t you wish you could be a real boy?_

“Hey,” says Steve, “Kamala, what’s the name of that podcast, again?”

“Con Men,” says Kamala, looking up. “Why?”

“And the episode name?”

“Black Gold Collective,” says Kamala. “I have to say, Mr. Trevor, I never pegged you for someone who listened to podcasts.”

“Eh, I’m kind of interested,” says Steve.

\--

“So this is going to sound weird,” says Steve, coming into the living room of their apartment as Diana’s wiping down her sword with an oilcloth, “but. I think—well, I thought it was a dream? But now I’m not sure, so: did we meet, back in 1984?”

Diana’s hand stills, and she looks up to meet his eyes. She’s sitting on the couch, the sword pointed downward. “I—Yes,” she says. “But I thought—When you came back in this time, I thought that last time was the Dreamstone lying to me somehow.” She puts the oilcloth and the sword down, says, “You said you were somewhere else. Somewhere good. I can’t see what’s so good about what you went through, so I thought maybe the Dreamstone had just...tricked me, somehow.”

“I wasn’t lying,” says Steve, after a moment, the memory resurfacing as he sits down on the couch next to her. “I was asleep. I was dreaming of you, and back then—back then, I had good dreams. So when I woke up and for once it was in a real bed and I remembered everything, I figured I’d take it for a while.”

Diana’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh,” she breathes. “You—Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could have—”

“Saved me?” Steve huffs out a breath, looks down at his hands, then shakes his head. “When I said I was already gone, I really thought I was,” he says. “And by the time I could even think about telling you, we were already on the stone’s trail. I knew that if I told you about what my body really was doing, what was really happening to me, you’d stop at nothing to get it back, and you were losing your powers by then. I figured, better to make sure the world still stood first. Then I’d find a way to keep you in my memory.” He sighs. “I, uh, didn’t.”

“So when you said that you were somewhere good before I wished for you, you were lying?” Diana asks, and Steve snaps his head up in shock, just in time to see the sorrow in her eyes.

“No,” he says, “or—yes, and no? I don’t—I was _frozen_ , I was asleep. I had good dreams. That was where I was for the most part. And I didn’t even know _where_ I was, who had me. I mean, it was the _Cold War_ , I probably changed hands like fifteen times during the eighties. I just…” He fiddles with his thumbs, says, “I guess I was lying to myself. I thought I could steal more time, and I thought if you knew what had happened to me, you’d—shit, Diana, you had my watch, you came to my family’s farm, I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me,” says Diana, taking his hand with one still-greaved hand. The other one, no longer wearing a bracer, touches his cheek and turns his face towards hers. “I just wish you had told me. I could have saved you earlier.”

“Well, now I wish I did,” says Steve. “Would’ve saved you and your justice friends a shock. But—it was good, you know? I was happy. For a little while I was _happy_ , and that was enough, that _is_ enough. I had just a little more time with you, I was myself for a little while. I had a good life. I could say goodbye.”

A tear rolls down Diana’s cheek. “I was happy too,” she says. “Losing you again—it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I don’t want to do it again if I can help it.” She pulls him in close, resting her forehead against his, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “Please,” she says, quietly. “Don’t go again.”

He breathes out slowly. He never wants to go, is the thing. If there’s any justice in the world, it’ll let him stay here by her side, as long as she wants him there. “I’ll try not to,” he says. “I swear, this time, I’ll do my best to stay with you.”

“Good,” says Diana. She leans in close, and kisses him.

\--

_Still The Present, But In The Quai Branly Museum._

“Late night, huh, Dr. Minerva?” James asks, and Barbara looks up from her paper to see the intern she’s borrowing from the Louvre leaning against the doorway to her office, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Yeah,” says Barbara, with a tired chuckle, tucking a few stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I have to certify some of these new acquisitions first. Don’t want a modern-day Saitaferne, after all.” The Louvre can take the hit to their reputation, because it’s unbelievably popular, but the Quai Branly can’t. Okay, it probably _can_ , but it’s not as present in the public eye as the Louvre is. “Is that cup of coffee for me?” she asks.

“Oh, no, it’s for me,” says James. “But, uh, I can brew you something?”

“Sure, sure,” says Barbara. “Put three sugars in mine.”

“Okay, Doc,” says James, and he skedaddles fast. He’s not quite at the level of Diana’s secretary, but Barbara likes him. He’s a nice kid. Gets a little too into conspiracy theories, but otherwise he’s harmless, and somewhat effective. Barbara puts her head back down, reading over the list of acquisitions they’ve picked up, and frowns.

 _Preserved ceremonial cheetah skin from Bwunda,_ reads one item. Bwunda? Last she checked Bwunda was a little tetchy about giving up artifacts. It’s probably a fake, she supposes, and she’ll have to go check it out. She sighs as she grabs her cane, then pulls herself to her feet, limping over to the storage room.

“Hey,” says James, catching her on the way there, “Doc, what’s up?”

“Come with me, I think we have a fake,” says Barbara. “Or at the very least a huge headache to explain to someone.”

“Uh, okay,” says James, falling in step behind her. “Is, uh, is anyone else pulling a late night besides us, by the way?”

“Security guards, probably,” says Barbara, with a shrug.

“She didn’t _look_ like a security guard,” says James, and Barbara freezes in place. “She looked like a knockout, said she was here to inspect the artifacts?” He pauses, then says, “She...wasn’t, was she.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” says Barbara. “Quick, come on, we have to go get the guards!”

\--

“Oh, fuck,” says James, staring at the corpse that used to be a night guard, now lying on the cold floor near the entrance, unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling. Blood from a gash in his stomach is soaking into the tiles.

“Call 112,” says Barbara. She whips around and starts stomping towards the back of the museum, her cane knocking hard against the linoleum floor. They’re being robbed. They’re being _robbed_ , and whoever it is, they’re willing to kill to get away with what they’ve stolen.

“Wait, Doc!” James calls, running up behind her. “Doc, wait up—”

“Go _home_ , James!” Barbara calls.

“I’m not leaving you alone with some psycho on the loose!” James snaps back, easily keeping pace with her, even slowing down. He’s already dialing the emergency number on his phone with shaking hands. “We don’t even know where they are!”

Glass shatters somewhere in the distance. In the back.

“The new acquisitions,” whispers Barbara. She grabs hold of James’ hand, pulls the phone from him, and says, “Hold me steady, we can’t make a sound.”

“Is this a bad time to say I don’t work out that much?” James asks, his voice barely above a frightened whisper as he lifts her up off her feet. “Because, um, I don’t. Is there a place to hide or—”

“Storage closet, east wing,” says Barbara, putting the phone to her ear. “Same place the new acquisitions are.”

\--

_112, what’s your emergency?_

“Hi, this is Dr. Barbara Minerva, from the Musée du quai Branly—we’ve been robbed, and one of our night guards is dead, please, _please_ , send someone over—”

\--

Diana lands lightly on her feet, on the roof of the museum. She drops through the hole in the skylight like a stone, but treads as softly as possible. Barbara is here somewhere, at risk from a robber, and Diana isn’t going to let her get hurt if she can help it. Or James, either, who is likely going to come back to the Louvre a little haunted.

She hears Barbara and James in the storage closet first, the two of them whispering frantically to each other. She knocks on the door, hears Barbara’s cane knock against a broom, hears a string of swears from James. “It’s me,” she whispers. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

“ _Diana_?” Barbara says from the other side. “What—”

“I can get you two out of here,” says Diana, looking around. Whoever the robber is, they’re likely not interested in Barbara and an intern, but they won’t hesitate to take them down either. “Just open the door and I can get you somewhere safe.”

“How did you even get here?” James says, baffled. “Oh, god, are you—”

“I’m not the one robbing the museum, if that helps,” says Diana, dryly.

“I believe you,” says Barbara. “But I do want to know, how did you get here? In the middle of a museum robbery?”

“I have my ways,” says Diana. “Quickly, though, we don’t have much time.”

“Okay, okay,” Barbara says. She’s the one who opens the door, and her jaw drops when she sees Diana in her armor. “Oh my god,” she whispers.

Diana puts her finger to her lips. “Just get on my back,” she says. She holds her arms out as Barbara clambers onto her back. “James?”

“ _Holy shit_ ,” whispers James, and stumbles into her arms.

“We have to get back the acquisitions they stole,” says Barbara in Diana’s ear, as she steps lightly away from the storage closet, carrying the two of them with ease. “I don’t—I don’t even know what would be so valuable they’d kill someone over it—”

“And I’ll try,” says Diana, “but your lives come first.” One person is already dead. Diana will not let any more blood be shed tonight. She crouches and jumps, flying up through the skylight once more and floating down to right outside on the street, in the shadow of an alleyway. “Stay here and stay _safe_ ,” she says. “If you see anything happening, run away. The police should be here shortly, but until then you should stay out of sight.”

“What _are_ you?” James asks.

“Someone who wants to help,” says Diana. “Let’s keep this a secret, yes?”

James doesn’t faint, but it’s a near thing. His eyes are so wide they look like saucers, and it takes Barbara nudging his side with her elbow for him to nod, enthusiastically. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I can keep a secret.”

“ _Go,_ ” says Barbara, and Diana goes.

\--

She lands on the mezzanine’s railing, just in time to see a woman with blonde hair, in an animal-print coat and high heels, stepping out of one of the collections. She sucks in a sudden, horrified breath, eyes going wide when she sees her.

“Priscilla?” she asks.

Dr. Priscilla Rich stares her down, not a day older from when they first met, all the way back in 1984. Her unkempt hair is cut short now, her eyes lined with kohl, and fastened around her shoulders is a cheetah-skin coat. “Diana,” she says, coolly. “You’ve got some nerve, showing up.” She cocks her head to the side, and says, “Where’s that golden armor of yours?”

“Where did you _go?_ ” Diana asks. “What—Priscilla, what _happened_ to you?”

“I renounced one wish,” says Priscilla, “the one Max gave me. I didn’t give up the other one. Why would I?” She smiles, showing her teeth. “Who wants to go back to being nothing? Who wants to go back to not having it all?”

Gods, her heart is breaking. “You killed the night guard,” Diana says, quietly. “You, who used to be so _kind_.”

“He was in the way,” says Priscilla, with a shrug. “Kindness didn’t get me anything.”

“Power isn’t getting you anything either,” Diana counters. She jumps down off the railing, her lasso coiling around her hand. “Look at you, Priscilla. You skulk in the night, you steal from museums—”

“Technically they stole it first,” says Priscilla.

“—you _killed_ an innocent person,” says Diana. “You’ve gained nothing but lies and hurt. _Please_ , you can still walk away, you can still end this. All you have to do is give this up and put back what you stole.” She uncoils the lasso from its place on her belt, and says, “I don’t think you’re planning to return it to its rightful place, anyway.”

“You’re damn right, I’m not,” says Priscilla. “God, Diana. You think I want to give this up? You think I want to be like everyone else again?” She laughs, shaking her head. “I told you,” she says, as the cheetah-skin coat seems to melt into her skin, her teeth growing sharp, her hands turning into claws, “ _never._ ”

Diana clenches her jaw. “Then you aren’t going anywhere,” she says.

\--

Glass shatters, as Barbara’s giving a statement to the police.

Gunfire erupts.

It’s _loud_ , is the thing. Barbara’s always figured, okay, she knows what gunshots sound like, she’s seen a lot of movies, but this is—this is something else entirely. This is so loud it pounds against her eardrums, and she claps her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound.

“Shit,” James is saying, “shit, shit, _shit_ —”

 _Make it stop_ , Barbara prays, _please, just make it stop—_

Someone screams in French. Barbara looks up, and her breath catches right in her throat as a—a _cheetah_ bursts through the gates, snarling. A golden lasso whips around her torso and yanks her back, and a moment later Diana crashes through the fence and gets back up. Then she launches herself against the cheetah-woman again, trading savage blow after savage blow with her.

Barbara pulls James low, the two of them crouching behind a police cruiser. Her bad leg is screaming in pain now, her heart racing in her chest. “Call your parents,” she says.

“But—”

“ _Call them._ ”

Gunfire blasts away over their heads. Suddenly, someone screams.

“Oh, god, did they hit her?” James says, worriedly. He peeks his head up, blinks, and says, “Wait, no, they hit the cheetah.”

“Help me up,” says Barbara, and James pulls her up off her knees. The cheetah lies on the lawn, its features melting into something more recognizably human, its arm hanging uselessly to the side. _Her_ arm, Barbara realizes. And her face…

“Aunt Prissy?” she whispers.

“Your aunt’s a cheetah-woman, Dr. Minerva?” James asks, turning to look at her.

“I think,” says Barbara, watching Diana pull the woman up to her feet and hand her over to the police, trying to reconcile her wild, carefree Aunt Priscilla with the murderer in front of her eyes, “my aunt has been lying to me for a very long time.”

\--

“Hold on, I just have one question for her,” says Diana, looking at Priscilla, at the woman who used to be her friend. “Why?”

Priscilla looks away from her, as a police officer cuffs her hands behind her back. “Partly, power,” she says. “Partly, well. I made a deal with someone very high up—she’ll get me out of here soon enough. And once I’m out, Diana,” she looks back, head held high, “there’s nothing you can do to stop me or her from getting what we want.”

“ _We?_ ” Diana says.

Priscilla grins at her, as the cop pushes her into the back of the police car. Already, her wounds are healing up. “Circe says hello, to you and your pilot,” she purrs, before the car door slams shut on her.

Diana watches her go, a cold chill spreading through her. Someone else knows about Steve. Someone who has no compunctions about hiring out for robbery and murder _knows about Steve_ , and has told Priscilla. Someone going by the name of _Circe_.

“It can’t be,” she says, quietly.

Barbara hobbles up to her, and says, “Was that my aunt?”

“Priscilla was your aunt?” Diana asks, turning to her friend. “Barbara, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, I’m okay, I’m just. Processing.” Barbara waves a hand at her temple, and says, “Not every day you find out your friend’s a superhero and your aunt can turn into a cheetah.”

“The thing was, she couldn’t,” says Diana. “The only time I saw her like that, she’d made a wish on a very powerful object, but she’d given it up. At least I thought she did.” She runs her teeth over her lower lip, shakes her head. “I’ve never seen that coat before, though.”

“I have,” James volunteers. “It came from Bwunda.”

“Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to authenticate it,” says Barbara. “I didn’t… _Jesus_ , I didn’t know it could do that. Turn people into cheetahs.”

Diana folds her arms, taps her fingers against her elbow. “Can you do me a favor, Barbara?” she asks.

“Yeah, sure, what?”

“I need you to tell me just where in Bwunda was that coat discovered,” says Diana, “and for what it was used. Maybe if I know what it was meant for I can counter it.”

“I could do that, yeah,” says Barbara, nodding. “But, uh—tomorrow? It’s been a long night.”

Diana sighs, then fixes a smile on her face. “Sure,” she says. “Let me get you both home.”


End file.
